


if you go chasing rabbits

by villainessy



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Anxiety, Gen, Light Bondage, M/M, Sensory Deprivation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-06
Updated: 2013-08-06
Packaged: 2017-12-22 15:28:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/914868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/villainessy/pseuds/villainessy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Carlos is anxious about the many dangers of Night Vale and Cecil shows him a way out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	if you go chasing rabbits

**Author's Note:**

> gah, this fic was supposed to be something else entirely, but it just kept growing and developed into this story.  
> posted also on my [tumblr](http://aggressiveeyerolling.tumblr.com/post/57534240251/if-you-go-chasing-rabbits) if you prefer to read there

Cecil loves Carlos and Carlos’ Hair. He know he does, he would have to be ill not to (and he knows he isn’t, he already had his bimonthly Health Evaluation and it ended with merely a strained ankle). Carlos is still perfect five months into their relationships, which according to City Council’s Guidelines on Relationship Management, chapter 2, is enough time to determine that Carlos is _just_ perfect, as in, personally, and should any dents be noticed in his perfection later on, it’d mean he was either replaced by a carefully engineered copy or possessed by a demon of sorts. Cecil wholeheartedly hopes it will never happen. Exorcisms are _way_ overpriced.

So Cecil loves Carlos (and his Perfect Hair), but sometimes he also gets really freaking fed up with him, okay? He loves when Carlos talks science to him, but hates how quickly their conversations derail on irrelevant topics like the third eye of Intern Sybille or Khoshekh’s furr. He loves Carlos’ Perfect hair, but hates how rarely he gets to touch it. He loves the adorable little twitch that pops on Carlos’ left brow whenever he explains to him something new about Night vale, but their dates keep getting ruined by Carlos’ irrational anxiety about, well, _everything_. Cecil always knew his boyfriend was exceptionally talented, but it really takes some special skills to twist the simplest everyday things into horrors that then plague you at night. (Cecil knows, he’s seen Carlos’ nightmares more times that he’d like to.)

It’s not that Cecil feels neglected, but he doesn’t feel particularly heeded either. Is it really so hard for Carlos to keep Cecil at the center of his universe as an enormous black hole sucking in their precious minutes together and crashing them into nothingness, always hungry and longing for the matter of Carlos’ smile? Is it so difficult to move over the elliptical orbit drawn around Cecil’s heart, to feel the pull of gravity pressing at his back and keeping him in save yet amicable distance?

 _Honestly_.

Cecil is not naive, he knows this level of adoration is reachable for only the few who manage to survive the reeducation programs, and even then, love is only directed toward the City Council and the members of Sheriff’s Secret Police. He looks around his room surreptitiously and quickly adds in his mind, _which is, of course, well deserved_. He drops back down on the pillow with a heavy sigh.

"What is it?" Carlos’ voice is sluggish from sleep and Cecil glances at him before going back to looking at the ceiling.

"Nothing. I was just thinking about the reeducation programs," Cecil says under his nose and he watches, disgruntled, as sleep leaves Carlos’ eyes in a second.

"Ah, yes, I was just thinking about it today as well. Cecil, did you notice how every survivor is around 50 years old?" Carlos sits up and grabs his glasses from the night stand. “Every single one of them, doesn’t matter if they were in the program six weeks or six years!"

Cecil shrugs noncommittally. He didn’t notice that, actually, but he was always having problems with matching age to people. Containing a person’s life into a set of months, years, summers or other units of time measurement that do not ultimately matter seems a bit rude too.

"Why are we talking about this now?" He says before he can stop himself.

"What…?" Carlos’ brows furrow. “Cecil, this is important! I know your feelings about this town’s government, but the methods they’re practicing on their own citizens go _so beyond_ basic…"

Cecil’s on his knees beside him before he knows it. “Have you been talking to Steve Carlsburg again?" He asks, voice schooled into calm and even thanks to years of experience.

Carlos falters, opens his mouth and closes it like a (very attractive) fish, before finally forcing out the words. “Cecil, we’ve been through this, I’m a scientist, I have to obtain an objective view through gathering as much data as…"

"No." Cecil’s eyes narrow into slits. “You are not obtaining objecting _anything_ with that jerk."

"Really? Because he seems like the only person who understands my point of view." Carlos puckers his lips so kissably that Cecil wants to forget their fight, but his Nightvalian pride just won’t let him.

"Yes, because he would say _anything_ as long as he knows you listen. He’s just that type of attention grabbing, selfish individual, who cannot stand not having an audience," he cedes through his teeth with venom. He hopes there’s enough of it to at least send a headache in Steve’s way. “All he’s going to do is to spew ridiculous catastrophic scenarios about some impending doom of the week."

Carlos flinches visibly, _flinches away from Cecil_ , and his eyes shot around the room, looking anywhere but at his boyfriend. He doesn’t respond for a moment and when he does, it’s small and guarded, like he believes Cecil will shun him for ever thinking that.

"What if he’s right? What if something really bad is going to happen? Something _really_ bad." Carlos adds the end in a whisper. His fingers start drumming on his leg, he straightens them and clenches his hand into fist to keep from moving, only to have the nervous tick transferring into his leg and making his knee jump against the sheets.

Cecil watches Carlos’ struggle to stay still, the way Carlos looks at him with eyes wide in horror as if the danger he spoke of was already knocking on their door. It reminds him about his aunt, about ginger bread, and tea without taste and the creaking door she never opened fully ever since The Sheriff’s Secret Police took her husband away.

"What do you mean by ‘something bad?’" He leans on the headboard of the bed next to Carlos, close but, hopefully, not suffocating. His had hovers over Carlos’, and when he doesn’t protest, Cecil lays it down, squeezing lightly in encouragement.

Carlos starts shaking. His shoulders shudder, legs curl up against his body in defensive position and he won’t look at Cecil anymore. “I don’t know. I don’t _know_." His eyes widen and he looks at the window-shield, before quickly averting his gaze. “They’re listening now, don’t they? They’ll know I was talking badly about Night Vale again," the last part comes with a shattered breath and Cecil can only understand it because he heard Carlos express that particular fear in the past. He brushed it off since all new residents go through that phrase. Then they get accepted by the town, learn the rules and obstructions, and slowly, gradually, Night Vale seeps into their mind like a second language so they can hear and understand and they melt in with other citizens like cells of a bigger, symbiotic organism. Carlos should already be there, but instead, his fears choke him up preventing the assimilation. Cecil wants to eat his hand for not paying attention earlier.

"Wait here, love." He stands up and goes to his walk in closet to fetch needed accessories.

***

He observes as Cecil comes back with two ties. Cecil catches his gaze and smiles. Carlos crooks an eyebrow at the items; they’re enough of a surprise to let him sit up straighter and forget about himself for a moment.

"What are we suiting up for?" He tries to joke weekly.

"No, no, no, these are both for you. I’m going to show you something." Cecil smiles his radiating smile and waves at Carlos to sit up. “First, I’ll put these on you and then you’re going to answer my questions and listen to me, alright?"

Carlos looks at the pieces of clothing uncertainty. It’s not the first time he was asked to immobilize or be immobilized in bedroom, but this… seems weird. Not even Night-Vale-weird, but just… he doesn’t understand how it’s supposed to help him voice his emotions. “Alright," he says nevertheless and slides to the edge of the bed, letting his legs touch the floor. 

To his surprise, Cecil uses only one of the ties to bound his wrist together, the other is left hanging on his knee for the time being. Cecil reaches out slowly and takes off his glasses, folds them carefully like a precious commodity. The other tie is then pressed against Carlos’ eyes, cutting off the light, cutting off his sight and leaving him vulnerable to attack he won’t even see coming. Carlos swallows hard. The material is thick but soft, it hugs him like a gentle caress rather than obstructing binding, he reasons with himself taking measured, calming breaths.

"Are you okay?" He hears close to his ear and nods.

"Speak." Cecil’s voice is heavy with authority Carlos didn’t hear ever since he proposed they go for a walk in that beautiful new forest that appeared on the edge of town.

"Yes… I’m okay," he answers.

"Good." He hears Cecil move and he turns his head in that direction, _no please don’t leave me_ running through his mind.

Cecil’s hand lands on his shoulder and Carlos breathes out a jagged gasp, the tense muscles of his arms relaxing in a second. The hand moves, but he can feel Cecil hover close to him, he’s touched on the cheek, fingers play with his curls; Cecil’s right by him and he feels silly for doubting him.

"What are you afraid of?" Cecil asks softly but it still startles him.

"I don’t know." Carlos says weekly. “I’m a scientist and I have no idea what I’m afraid of. I just know that something will happen again, it may be two days from now or two weeks, or hell, maybe it’s already happening." He bends his head and adds miserably, “And I just don’t how to stop it." He can see himself in his mind, the pathetic bulk of his body sitting uselessly on the bed, bound and sightless, with his boyfriend as the only thing keeping him from falling prey to some new mystery he most likely doesn’t even know of yet.

Cecil doesn’t respond for a moment but when he does, he sounds distant and solemn. “You don’t have to stop anything, love. Things happen. Mostly without a reason and with the capacity to hurt us, but that’s life: a solitary void that sucks out our time and leaves us as a dessicated shadows of our long forgotten young selves, set to wander hopelessly in a world they no longer understand until finally meeting death."

Carlos frowns, his heart speeding up at Cecil’s words. They’re as far from the comforting lies he expected as one can get. “I know," he chokes out. “I might as well just stop trying and walk straight into the dog park."

"Whoa, wait, wait, wait," Cecil sounds flustered. “But _you_ have nothing to worry about! That’s my point. You’re a part of Night Vale now."

"I can name way too many things that can and will, statistically, happen to me." Carlos shrugs.

"Everyone loves you here, Carlos." Cecil takes his chin and forces it up, exposing his neck. It makes his breath catch in his throat, he almost forgot how much he likes being held like this. The man’s words finally sink in and he worries on his bottom lip. “Why… You don’t know that."

“ _Everyone_ loves you." Cecil says with all the certainty in the world. “Trust me. The people in town are grateful for your dedication to keep us safe. And, well, I never heard about The Sheriff’s Secret Police playing favorites, but they admit you’re incredibly interesting to spy on and therefore they always look forward to watch you struggle with your equipment or flail over the most ordinary things."

Carlos rolls his eyes under the blindfold but the corners of his lips twitch. “Well, that’s reassuring. The reminder that at all times we’re being observed by a bunch of cree-mmpff!"

"Yes, but doesn’t it make you feel safer?" Cecil purrs sweetly and takes his hand off Carlos’ mouth. “Even right now, there are people who watch us and witness everything that happens, and _they wish us well_. They _love_ us. Isn’t it great to have that presence in your life?"

"Well, I guess it is nice to know you have a friendly person by your side at all times." Carlos attempts a joke. He takes a deep breath and strains his wrists against the tie. The blindfold shields him and the material digs into his flesh reminding him that he’s still here, still well. It makes him feel grounded in the moment enough for the meaning of Cecil’s confession to catch up with his mind. “They really like me this much?"

Cecil lets out a quiet ‘ _oh, Carlos, sweet oblivious Carlos’_ and sits down by his side. “You have to trust me when I say you’re protected and out of danger. You’re one of us now."

"That doesn’t… Cecil, I do trust you." Carlos says miserably. “There are some things you just can’t control. Like, me being injured in a city that calls 1/10 of its population going missing ‘a regular Saturday’."

"You wouldn’t go missing." Cecil says patiently. “And if you would, I’d ask Josie to ask the Angels to search for you. _DUH._ ”

"That’s sweet of you." Carlos smiles genuinely, not convinced but definitely touched. Cecil must sense that, because he stands up with a sigh.

"Alright. I’ll show you what I mean. Follow me."

"I… what? Cecil, I can’t see."

"You know my house. Please, come after me now."

He obeys and awkwardly stands up from the bed. He doesn’t know where and how to move. The bed has an oddly shaped leg on the right side that he might trip over. Or was it the left side? There’s that weird rug too, it squeaks like a pig when you stand on him, but that’s closer to the door. Logically, Carlos knows that Cecil must be right by him, but the lack of sight and touch isolate him from the rest of the room, town, world.

"You’re not isolated at all." He hears Cecil says softly and he stands there, baffled. He must have said the last part out loud.

"It’s okay. Follow my voice," Cecil says gently.

Carlos does. Panic simmers under his resolution to stay focused on the sound of Cecil’s words and he knows he might tip over the scale into full blown attack, but for now… he walks. He passes the bed, passes the rug and for the first time smiles at the whimpered squeak it releases under his feet. He can feel the scratchy, old wooden floor under his toes and heels, but he can also feel its defection under his weight as if it was pressing on his own shoulders. He walks through the hall and smells a faint scent of chocolate. The Faceless Old Woman must have been baking again. He senses the living room before he even enters it. With his eyes closed, he can focus on the low hum of pieces of furniture. He can differentiate between them like distinctive voices and some part of his mind wants to be surprised, but deep down he knows it’s always been like this. He walks surely between the sofa and armchairs. He can hear the belligerent whisper of the lamp in the corner and lets it lead him straight to Cecil.

"I don’t think it likes when you lean on it like that," he says taking off his makeshift blindfold and smiles at Cecil.

"Oh, I know it doesn’t. That’s why i do it," Cecil grins from ear to ear and starts working the knot on his wrists open.

"Thank you."

Cecil looks up and leans to brush a kiss over Carlos’ lips. “Did you feel it?"

"Yes," Carlos admits, and laughs, because making him feel better over his anxiety about unsolved mysteries by showing another mystery is just _so_ Night Vale. “I felt… I feel like a part of it, like one cell in a well functioning organism, you know?"

"Told you," Cecil looks smug. “Night Vale takes care of its own."


End file.
